Hope
by Sandrock91
Summary: This is the account of Chocolat and her time spent in the depths of the Iselia Ranch. Find out what happens to her in the months before her rescue.


**Chapter 1: The March**

A loud peal of thunder shook Kraden from his sleep. As the violent sound died down, the children's cries could be heard from the other cells. The mothers rushed to comfort their offspring as the storm callously rolled on. Kraden laid his head back down on the hard mattress, but the whining of the children continued to ring in his ears incessantly. Giving a dejected sigh, he gave up his dreams as lost and sat up from his bunk. He was beginning to hate children.

Stretching his stiff muscles, he looked out at the bleak hallway where the Desian guards continued their routine march through the cell room. He chuckled quietly to himself. At least he'd never hate kids more than he hated them. There were two guards patrolling at the moment, both wearing their usual purple armor and iron helmets, which protected their repulsively pointed ears, to which everyone was grateful. Their leather boots came up just above their ankles, but it didn't hide the clanking noise of the armor as they walked. One wielded a deadly leather whip and the other holstered a crossbow. Not much of a defense, but they were effective against a helpless group prisoners who'd never seen a day of fighting in their lives.

_As far as they know, anyway_, Kraden thought to himself.

Another peal of thunder roared through the walls of the fortress, shaking the ground and scaring the children even further. As the guard with the whip passed by, Kraden strolled to the cell and rested his arm up against the bars, giving the guard a wayward smirk.

"Sounds like great weather, huh?"

The Desian scowled and spat on the ground next to him. Apparently satisfied by his insult, he continued his patrol along the corridor.

"Kraden, do you have to make 'em mad on purpose?" Behind him, a man groaned and sat up from his bed. He was a larger man, but not obese. His head was covered with light brown hair, highlighted with gray streaks, though his face showed he was only in his forties. Down the sides of his chin grew a large, rough beard that made Kraden grateful for being unable to grow one. The man sat up groggily from the end of his bed and smirked at Kraden. "You don't think you have enough scars on your back? I could fix that for you."

"Guess you couldn't sleep either, Garret?" Kraden replied.

Garret stood up, rubbing his neck and stretching his sore muscles. "Not with you stompin' around," he slurred. "So long's you're awake, no point in hopin' for some rest." Kraden laughed with him and then continued to look out at the hallway beyond the steel bars, just out of his reach. "You know, if staring at those bars would ever cause them to melt, you probably would have succeeded by now."

"We can always hope, I suppose." Yet again the thunder rumbled through the sky, scaring the children into more cries of fright. "Don't think we'll be doing any sleeping tonight anyway."

Garret grunted in agreement. "Maybe they'll give us a day off."

"Doubtful."

Garret glanced to the steel bars and back to Kraden. "We can hope, I suppose." He chuckled for a few moments and then walked up to the bars alongside him.

"Heard the news?" said Kraden. Garret gave him a quizzical look. "New batch coming in tomorrow."

Garret was taken aback. "In this weather?"

Kraden shrugged. "Like it matters to them. Some of those prisoners have probably been on the trail for a couple of weeks now."

"That doesn't surprise me. I'm just amazed the Desians would bother marching with them through the mud."

Kraden chuckled. "Half-elves in their rightful place, I suppose." At this, they both laughed loudly.

"Greetings, Mr. Comedian." The Desian with the crossbow revealed himself beyond the bars, sneering at the two prisoners. Kraden and Garret immediately became quiet. Garret averted his gaze, but Kraden refused to break eye contact. The Desian tried to stare him down, but Kraden was immune to his intimidation. Giving it up, he chuckled sardonically and continued, "Prisoner 1658-F?"

Making sure not to look away, Kraden replied, "No one by that name, Arrol." The Desian grimaced, apparently offended that a human would use his name. "See, my friend's name here is Garret. I'm Kraden. If you have any business with us, I'd be happy to assist."

Arrol glared at him harshly. His fingers tightened around the trigger of his crossbow, begging to be put to use. He regained his composure, however, and replied, "Your sarcasm will be the death of you. You're wanted for questioning." Grabbing his keys, he began to unlock the cage the held them in.

Kraden doubled over in a mocking bow. "As you wish." As he spoke, he relaxed the fingers on his right hand, allowing a small wooden ring to drop from the fourth and land soundlessly onto the floor. Arrol, ignorant of his action, opened the door and beckoned him forward. Kraden stepped outside of his box and turned back to his prison mate. "I'll be back, Garret." As he spoke, he became vaguely aware of the crossbow in Arrol's hand reeling back. Suddenly, he felt an immense pain in the back of his head, and he fell forward, hitting the ground hard. As his consciousness began to seep from him, he felt his body being lifted by the arms and dragged down the hall. _Here we go again,_ he thought to himself as he went under.

* * *

"Keep marching!" The whip cracked once again into the crowd, followed by an involuntary groan from whoever had been unfortunate enough to take the full blow of the strike. They marched on through the storm, afraid to sustain any more punishment from the deadly whips. The Desians marched in line on either side of their prisoners, ready to further punish anyone who might slow the group down. Large drops of rain splattered against their heads, soaking them thoroughly. The storm was so harsh that the prisoners could hardly see a few yards ahead. The ground below them quickly softened into mud, sucking their boots into the earth with every step they took. Some were unfortunate enough to lose their shoes to the deep quagmire, but nobody dared stop to pick them up. In the midst of this new bunch of prisoners stood a young brown-haired girl.

Though the chains on her ankles made walking difficult, she marched quickly behind the man in front of her, unwilling to give the Desians reason to whip her again. Her eyes scanned the ground, unwilling to look upon her fellow prison mates. Unlike her, they hadn't chosen their fate, being forced to march miles away from their home. They hadn't chosen this exhausting journey.

Not that she had necessarily chosen this fate for herself. Yet she had refused what would perhaps be her only opportunity to escape. Even now, the visions of that day rang through her head.

_Dorr will save me. Leave me alone!_

All this time, she had forced herself to believe her own words, but even as she had said it, the emptiness of the governor-general's promises became evident. Like tormenting spirits, the memories of the others who had been captured crept into her mind, along with the promises… the lies that Dorr boldly proclaimed to them all, giving them hope that everyone would soon be liberated… including Marble. Suddenly, she felt foolish for ever trusting that man.

But, she thought, had she gained the chance to make the choice again, it would have been no different. The thought of being rescued by that boy—that _murderer_—was unbearable. She would rather rot in whatever cell the half-elves would throw her in than be indebted to the one boy who had ruined everything for her. Perhaps this was the reason she could not equate herself with the others. Whether or not the opportunity was real, she had _chosen_ this fate.

"Some trip, huh?" someone next to her whispered, interrupting her thoughts. She looked to her left to see an older boy, no older than 18, she figured, smirking back at her. He had short, sandy-brown hair that came down above his ears. His face was poorly shaven, with small tufts of hair poking out in different spots on his chin. Like everyone else, he was soaked to the skin, and his drenched clothes hung heavily around his body.

Unsure how to respond, she simply said, "I suppose so."

The boy smiled, apparently happy to hear a reply. "Makes you wish you went out a bit more, doesn't it?" She looked up at the stormy sky, which gave no sign of letting up anytime soon. _Is he serious? _The boy just continued to grin from ear to ear in response to her confused expression. He looked straight up into the sky, letting the fat drops of rain splash his face. "I've always enjoyed the rain. The noise keeps me at peace." The white lightning struck the ground miles ahead of them, releasing a loud, sharp explosion that surrounded the prisoners, causing some of them to cringe in fear.

When the noise died away, she glanced back at the giddy boy. "Yeah, sounds peaceful," she interjected sarcastically. Rather than take offense, the boy laughed at her remark. It seemed that nothing would take the grin from his face. Even though they were marching through miles of mud to a living hell, he smiled and talked as if it were just a normal day in the market. _What a strange boy,_ she thought. "You're pretty happy for someone who's just been taken prisoner." As she spoke, she realized that, in spite of herself, she was smiling as well.

The boy simply shrugged. "It was just a matter of time, I suppose. Whole world's gone mad. But it doesn't mean they can take away—"

A cracking noise as loud as the thunder filled the empty air as a sharp pain flared in the small of her back. She almost lost her footing from the unexpected blow. Next to her, a similar crack resounded as the same whip hit the boy. "Shut up and march!" the attacker shouted.

The boy mumbled a quick apology and kept his eyes forward. She was affronted by his sudden mood swing until she realized that he had apologized to her rather than the guard. Thinking about it, she concluded that she had been enjoying their conversation. Likely, she would not have a chance at making many friends once they reached the ranch, and talking to the boy distracted her from the unbearable aches of their long march. Despite her fear of the whip, she spoke again just above a whisper. "Where are you from?"

The boy's face shined with eagerness as he faced her again. "The mountains. I had a house up near Hima. Place is kind of a ghost town now, but it's peaceful." She nodded, curious about the way he worded it, but she didn't question him. "What about you?"

"Oh, I'm from Palmacosta," she replied. A lump formed in her throat from speaking the word.

"Really? The port city?" he said, not seeming to notice her sudden stiffness. "Never been there. What's it like?"

"Well, I imagine it's not quite as peaceful as Hima," she joked, remembering the ever-busy plaza. She told him about the harbor, where a dozen or so fishing boats were always docked, the university, which contributed to the diverse population, the seaside market, and even the overwhelming dead fish smell that loomed over the city in the heat of high noon. When she finished, she found herself becoming dreadfully homesick.

A silence occurred between them after she'd stopped talking, and she realized that he had probably been contemplating the same thing. For the next few minutes, they walked on, meditating on their home cities that moved further and further behind them.

Finally, the boy broke the silence. "It's important, you know."

She turned to him again. "What?"

"Remembering," he explained. "You'll want to remember where you came from as much as you can. If not, when we get out of this and head back home, we won't really be going home, you know?"

She had to smile at his optimism. "You seem pretty sure we're going to get out of this mess, huh?"

The boy shrugged again and replied, "That's all there is. The way I see it, we have to get out of…this—" He gestured to the crowd, "—eventually. I mean, if we don't, then there's really nothing else. Then there's no use in anything, you know?" She nodded, not really understanding what he meant.

"Oh, finally!" one of the Desians from up front shouted as they rounded the top of the hill. As the ground leveled out, a forest became visible in the horizon. Beyond it was what seemed to be a city, though the rain distorted their vision significantly. The girl figured it was the town of Iselia, and she sighed with relief. That meant their destination was near. "Never thought I'd say this, but I'm glad we're near the ranch."

The boy nodded in agreement and marched on. The Desians, their patience long gone now, whipped the prisoners relentlessly, coaxing them to march faster. Between whips, the boy managed to say, "Name's Corban, by the way."

Amused, the girl smiled and returned the gesture. "Chocolat." As she finished speaking, lightning struck dangerously close to their position, exploding in the air with deadly force.


End file.
